


Everything Stays

by di0brando



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Divergence, Confessions, Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Richie also says gay rights, Richie sees how brave Eddie is and thinks 'oh shit I can do that too', but i've done nothing but cry about reddie for like a week so here you go, this is so sappy i can't believe i've done this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/di0brando/pseuds/di0brando
Summary: Derry isn't so intimidating when you look at it through an aged lens. With Eddie as his anchor, Richie wonders why he ever settled for what his hometown deigned to give him.





	Everything Stays

“Alright, Eds, where to next?” Richie asks.

Eddie has been in the care of the Loser’s Club for a week now, and the nurses back at the hospital insist that he doesn’t try to walk for quite some time. They also insist that he return for check-ups every other day. Furthermore, they gave an Eddie Kaspbrak Care Guide to the Losers; it’s about three inches fucking thick, but Richie has read the entire thing religiously. He knows Eddie’s medications like the back of his hand, and he knows when Eddie needs to fucking take them. He also knows what to do in an emergency—what to do if Eddie falls, what to do if Eddie has an allergic reaction, what to do if Eddie opens his stitches. Scenario A all the way down to scenario Z.

Not that the other Losers aren’t helping care for Eddie, but there was an unspoken and unanimous motion to let Richie take the reins. It was like they knew he needed to stay with Eddie, and that he needed the anchoring reassurance of a steady pulse. So it is; Richie is the one pushing Eddie’s wheelchair around good old fucking Derry, letting him get some fresh air and stare at something that isn’t the television in his hotel room.

“Kaspbrak, the nurses didn’t tell me you went deaf,” Richie snaps his fingers beside Eddie’s head. Eddie frowns and swats Richie’s hand away. Richie rolls his eyes. “Bored of the field trip already?”

The two of them had just left a corner store; a new bag full of snacks and miscellaneous items hangs from one of Eddie’s wheelchair handles. Richie drums his fingers on said handles and pushes Eddie down the cracked and faded sidewalk.

“I’m just thinking,” Eddie huffs. “Dickhead,” he decides to tack on.

“Oh, yeah, I can’t blame you, you have _so_ many wonderful options today! Let’s see...there’s the hundred-year-old bowling alley, the post office, the...uh...that mailbox over there,” Richie gestures lazily at a crooked, rusty bin across the street.

“It looks like a trashcan,” Eddie squints.

“Everything here looks like a trashcan!” Richie exclaims with fake fanfare, ignoring the narrow looks from a passing elderly couple. Eddie doesn’t respond beyond a barely-amused huff, and Richie tries not to stare at the back of his head as he continues to push the chair.

Richie wouldn’t say that Eddie’s been depressed in the grand scheme of things. For the most part, Eddie seems to be taking his injuries in stride—arguably optimistic for someone that still has a mending hole in his sternum. But there are times when Richie finds Eddie with a faraway look in his eye. A look that suggests Eddie is going over some serious shit in his head.

Risk assessment.

“Well,” Richie says, “You just let me know if you want me to roll you down a hill at top speeds. In the meantime, I’m gonna find a bench.” Eddie remains neutral at the implication of getting another broken arm, so Richie lets the silence between them become familiar and comfortable.

It takes a good ten minutes for Richie to find a spot to relax—a grassy area adjacent to the nearest row of buildings. There isn’t any traffic here, nor are there any pedestrians; just a shitty little bench and a decent view of a portion of town. Richie settles on the bench so that he and Eddie are side-by-side. He then rummages around in their grocery bag and pulls out a plastic fork and a cup of fruit.

“Need any water?” Richie asks. Eddie shakes his head.

“No, Richie, I’m alright.”

Richie nods, not looking at Eddie while he spears a piece of pineapple. More silence for another moment, and Richie never has been able to leave well enough alone. Ultimately, he decides to push for interaction instead of settling for Eddie’s pensive attitude.

“Do you wanna talk about something, or--?”

“Richie, I think I should probably--”

Eddie and Richie blink at each other before they both chuckle.

“Go ahead, go for it,” Richie gestures with his fork. Eddie shifts minutely in his chair, but even that motion causes a brief look of discomfort to pass over his face. Richie tries not to baby him over it, clambering for some painkillers. Jesus, if he acts like Eddie’s mother one more time, he’s going to go spray paint her fucking tombstone.

“I told you I’ve been texting Myra,” Eddie starts, picking idly at a loose thread in his pants. Oh, he just makes it too easy. Richie grins around a cheek full of mango.

“Yeah, that’s good! I think it’s important for people to keep in touch with their parents,” Richie snickers. Eddie’s glare is so heated, Richie swears he feels a cattle prod on the back of his neck. Regardless, it’s super fucking endearing.

“Do you want me to talk or not, Trashmouth?” Eddie snaps, though the fervor is limited. Richie raises his hands in a placating motion. Eddie stares at him for a moment before deciding to continue.

“She kept insisting on traveling here to be with me, but I kept making excuses as to why she shouldn’t,” Eddie explains, his brow pinching in thought, “It felt kind of selfish, but I just kept thinking, ‘she isn’t from here, she just doesn’t get it,’” Eddie huffs, half humor and half disbelief, “I guess I’m not wrong. It would just feel weird. Like a puzzle piece that isn’t fitting, no matter how hard you jab at it.”

“Nah, that makes sense. I guess if you’ve fought a humongous fucking spider-clown, it becomes a little lackluster. Talking to people that _haven’t_ fought a spider-clown, I mean.” Richie jokes, but it doesn’t necessarily carry the way he wants it to.

His voice wavers and he blames it on an accidental bite to the inside of his cheek. His fork goes through a slice of strawberry, and it’s the stupidest fucking thing, but he has to wrench his eyes closed to keep from picturing Eddie’s torso. If Eddie notices the minor break in composure, he doesn’t mention it. Richie is thankful.

“That’s the gist of it,” Eddie nods. “So I just kind of...told her we should get a divorce,” Eddie says flatly, eyes wandering to look at some fixed point in town. Richie almost chokes.

“Holy shit, Eds, that’s...Am I an asshole if I say that’s a good thing? I mean, I just don’t know that you were...” Richie trails off.

“Happy,” Eddie finishes.

“Yeah,” Richie says lamely. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Tozier.

“I like to think I never tricked myself into feeling...happy. With her,” Eddie speaks awkwardly as he plucks harder at that loose thread. “But it’s not like I would have known something was missing if I didn’t end up in Derry again.” The late afternoon sun casts a light over Eddie’s face; it makes his profile glow. Richie swallows when Eddie turns his head to look at him.

“Something was missing,” Eddie murmurs again, mostly to himself. His hand reaches out toward Richie, but it stops halfway there, hesitant. Eddie rests it on the arm of the bench instead.

“Rich,” Eddie continues, “I’ve been brave lately—more than I’ve been before—and you’re the one that told me I could be. So I think I should keep that up,” Eddie chuckles, looking somewhat nervous, “and I think I should be honest with you.”

Richie’s heart hammers as he tries not to jump the gun. He has no idea what Eddie is trying to say, but he’s going to be there for him no matter how disappointing or overwhelming or fantastic it may be. Richie inches closer to the edge of the bench and places his hand on the armrest beside Eddie’s, pointedly not making contact. He otherwise fidgets and nods.

“Yeah, of course, Eds. I’m all ears.” Richie can _watch_ the courage pass over Eddie’s face; he watches his brown eyes gain resolve, and he doesn’t look away from Richie.

“I want us to stay together, Rich. I—well, whatever that means or entails, I uh, I don’t know. But I don’t want to forget again. I don’t think I’d be able to take it. I’ll, I mean, I don’t want to burden you more than I already have, but I really don’t want to fucking go back to New York, man.” Eddie is so genuine, Richie wilts at the idea of even trying to turn this into a joke. He doesn’t want to spin this on its head just to keep himself from getting hurt—that would only hurt Eddie, so he refuses. He wants to be brave, too, so he forces words from his throat.

“Eds, you’re not a fucking burden, so don’t let me hear you say that again,” Richie scolds with no real heat before his expression softens. “But you’re serious? You’d come to LA with me?”

“Well, the alternative is staying here. And fuck that, actually,” Eddie laughs, and Richie finds himself laughing, too. He finds himself giddy and high. He leans closer to Eddie without realizing that he’s doing so.

“Jesus, that makes so much sense! I have plenty of room in my condo! And you could come with me when I’m touring! Or just stay and watch the place, I’m not picky. And we could catch up on more shit, and you can fill up one of my fucking medicine cabinets with your grandma pills. And like, I’m not the greatest cook or anything, but I make some kick-ass lobster dishes. And I could get you hooked up on my Netflix, and we can do video calls whenever you’re away for your dumb job, because I’m gonna fucking miss you anyway, and--”

Richie doesn’t realize he has tears on his face until Eddie reaches forward and wipes his cheek with his sleeve. Then, the dam crackles and splits. Richie’s shoulders jerk for a couple seconds before an unexpected sob escapes past his teeth. His eyes squeeze shut and he curls forward, audibly crying when Eddie’s fingers briefly skim along his hair.

All of the idyllic scenarios that have gathered in his head since he got to see Eddie again—all of the what if’s and could have’s piling up and making Richie equal parts miserable and euphoric. The very idea of being able to live with Eddie and _be_ with Eddie after having lost him is overwhelming. He wants to dare and hope that Eddie wants all of the same things.

After all this time, he can’t afford to not acknowledge it. And he owes Eddie so much; he owes Eddie some bravery, too.

“It feels like we’ve lost so much time,” Richie chokes out, “I hate that I’ve gone this long without you.” Now that Richie remembers what life is like with Eddie in it, he doesn’t know if he could go back to how things were before that reunion dinner.

Richie’s eyes startle open when he feels a weight bump against him; Eddie’s forehead is now resting against his own, his nose just barely an inch away. Eddie’s eyes are closed. Richie struggles to hold his breath and keep from crying any further.

“If you want to stay together, we can do that,” Eddie says quietly. “We can leave,” he assures. Together.

Richie feels like his heart is going to jump out of his throat, but he musters up the courage to move his hand and touch Eddie’s on the bench rail. Eddie’s hand twitches in response, but he doesn’t open his eyes to look at Richie.

Eddie lifts his hand. Richie watches, fascinated, as they both link their fingers together. Eddie’s touch is gentle and his skin is soft and pale. Once Eddie feels that Richie is trembling, he tightens his grip somewhat.

“We can finally go,” Richie sniffs. He wants to wipe his face clean, but he isn’t willing to pull away from Eddie to do so. “Like we should have in the first place. We don’t ever have to come back, and I already gave Derry a big old ‘fuck you.’” Richie speaks quietly, so as not to break the spell they’re under. Eddie pulls back slightly, opens his eyes, and chuckles.

“What does _that_ mean?” He asks. Richie’s mouth widens into an earnest grin despite his watery eyes. As soon as he commits to his confession—as soon as he knows he’s going to spill his not-dirty secret—he feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

“Dude, I fucking carved our initials on the kissing bridge railing.”

Eddie begins to smile from ear to ear, obviously not caring about the pull of his new scar. Richie covers his mouth to hide his own snickering; it’s like they’re only kids that are in on a really incredible secret.

“Oh my God, I’ve wanted to say that my entire life,” Richie laughs, eyes wide with disbelief. Eddie looks at him like he would have been fine if Richie admitted this 27 years sooner. He would have been fine if Richie called him one day, out of the blue, and told him everything. It’s a shame that neither of those things happened, but at least they’re fine now, too. Richie _finally_ feels like someone is listening; now that it’s all out in the open, with his heart laid bare for Eddie Kaspbrak, it makes him wonder what the fuck he was so scared of all this time.

Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand and he rises to his feet. When he stares at Derry’s skyline, he no longer feels small in comparison.

“Hey, Derry! I’m _gay_! And my best friend _likes_ me!” Richie cups his hands around his mouth and yells at the city, though he garners no response aside from Eddie’s embarrassed laughter. “Also, you’re a fucking circus and I hate you!” Sewer clown included.

“You good?” Eddie asks, fond yet exasperated. Richie turns and leans down into Eddie’s space, now that he knows he’s allowed to without it being weird. Without feeling like he’s being stared at.

“I’m great! I’m on cloud fucking nine, baby!”

“You’re only going to talk about _this_ at dinner tonight, aren’t you?” Eddie deadpans.

“I’ve never said I like dudes before, Eds. I’ve gotta make up for lost time!”

Eddie sighs and shoves at Richie’s shoulder, motioning for him to steer his chair back to the hotel. Richie’s smile doesn’t fade in the least. The unbridled censorship of Tozier is gone—it faded into the bedrock with that fucking clown. Now, he has nothing to give but his best.

**Author's Note:**

> You know that song Everything Stays from Adventure Time?? Also do you ever cry?? 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!! Comments and kudos mean a lot to me, so be sure to leave those if you support Richie Tozier and his Gay Rights Axe.


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